


All for Naught

by WhisperingOrchard



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, Romance, crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingOrchard/pseuds/WhisperingOrchard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ren cannot sleep, and Neptune tries to ease him out of his rampant thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All for Naught

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real RWBY fic, so I have no idea how this is. All feedback is appreciated!

In his younger years, Lie Ren had never expected a life of such… Well, of such _simplicity_.

And yet, as he lies sedately on his warm, scar-sullied back, Ren’s mind fills with the brume of all of his prior expectations. Why his brain had the _audacity_ to linger on such things at two o’clock in the morning is beyond him, but… then, that’s how the mind typically works, isn’t it? Jumbled and jovial and content with all the world, right until the exact moment in which a person’s head hits the pillow that night.

His eyes drift upward, struggling to make out the faintest shadow of the ceiling fan as it clicks and hums meaningless murmurs above his head. Perhaps the noise can lull him into the sweet sin of deepest slumber; _no_ , he thinks to himself as he turns onto his right side, _that’s wrong_. At this point, his subconscious is all too preoccupied with the process of thought to even _begin_ to tire. Once-crusted amaranth eyes slip shut in this moment as he continues to mull over his purpose, his existence, and whether or not he should have put strawberry jam on last night’s PB &J instead of grape.

Ten years have passed since his time at Beacon.

… How in the world can it _already_ have been ten years? His fingers clench around the limp corner of the pillow beneath his head; his nose tucks carefully down towards his shoulder. Ten quick years… It’s almost too difficult to believe. His time at Beacon was grueling, strenuous, and above all _dangerous_ , yet a miniscule part of him misses the simpler times—mostly the moments of mirth and camaraderie among his familiars. It isn’t as if they don’t have some of that now, but contact among different teams has grown a bit sparse with time. Their bonds may not be severed, but certainly are they a little hazier and a bit rarer than before Cinder Fall’s reign.

Cinder Fall… The very name leaves a sour taste on Ren’s tongue; he smacks his lips once in revulsion. Many years have passed since her descent from power, but the blood and scars and death left in her wake still stain his mind with a dreadful stench. He, like so many other Hunters and Huntresses—like the commonman and the wealthy, like the moral and the corrupt—witnessed her disgusting apathy firsthand. He was one of the luckier ones, he thinks with a tiny frown, having fought his way through the coup and returning to normalcy with little more than a sizeable scar on his back.

The slightest of sighs slips out past his lips at the inkling. Others were not so lucky, he reminds himself, and a hand subconsciously reaches out ahead of him at the thought. Gently, he runs his thumb along the mottled, fleshy skin of his companion’s neck, and a frown pries at the corners of his lips. Most have said that all of this—the pain, the glee, the memories— _none of it_ was ever meant to happen. But, somehow, that seems wrong to Ren in one way or another—

His thoughts are interrupted by a shifting of weight beside him on the mattress; he retracts his hand from the other’s neck and places it back on the pillow. The figure beside him bobs a little before sleepily lifting his head; Ren cannot see that familiar pair of azure eyes in the dark, but the faintest glow of moonlight seeping in through the blinds casts enough light that he knows Neptune is looking at him directly.

“Ren…?” The groggy gurgle in Neptune’s voice is enough of an indication that he had been asleep prior to Ren’s touch. Oops. “What’re you…? You still up?”

To this, Ren has nothing much to say; instead, he simply clears his throat as an indication of his consciousness and tugs the blankets a bit further up his body. He hadn’t meant to awaken his partner, by any means, but that doesn’t mean he wants to fess up to doing it either. It’s not his fault that Neptune is a particularly light sleeper. Frankly, it doesn’t really make much sense, either.

“Can’t sleep?”

The thoughts that so adamantly plagued his mind before have begun to mitigate, though they still gnaw and gnash faintly at the forefront of his mind. “I can’t stop… thinking.”

With a little “hm”, Neptune turns away from Ren for the briefest of moments; his hand must have found the knob beneath the lampshade, because the light on the bedside table suddenly flickers on with a tiny _click_ , the only notable sound in the otherwise silent bedroom. “Uh, what’re you thinking about? Need some tea or something?”

“Tea isn’t a cure-all,” Ren responds with a deadpan tone, though the faintest flash of a smile unfurls along the left corner of his lips. Another stagnant air settles between their bodies, broken only by Neptune’s consequent chuckle, until Ren speaks a second time, sitting upright before continuing. “… I’ve been thinking about… a lot.”

“Gotcha.” Flashing him a crooked, drowsy smirk, Neptune sits up as well and pulls down the covers. “I’ll bring you a cup if you wanna… Y’know, talk it out or something. Black or green tea?”

“You don’t—”

“Black, right? Oh, wait, don’t tell me—passionflower! Eh?”

… Okay, so even Ren has to admit that Neptune’s commitment and persistence are endearing, albeit a little unnecessary. It had taken the blue-haired fellow quite some time to remember Ren’s tea preferences, and the fact that he has managed in such short time is impressive in itself. After all, they’ve only been living together for a few months. A dim dusting of pink splashes across his face, barely perceptible (er, he hopes) in the hazy glow cast by the bedside lamp. “Okay… Yeah. Thanks, Nep.”

“On it.” Neptune’s lips part wide in a heavy yawn before he moves to get up—he is halted, however, as a nimble hand latches onto his wrist and tugs him back down onto the mattress. “What’re you—”

Ren’s free hand rests, now, atop the marbled expanse of Neptune’s left cheek, covering the scarred tissue beneath his eye with the tips of cautious fingers. A featherlight breath flutters out from his nostrils, then, as his eyes flit swiftly from the scar to the pair of cobalt irises fixated inquiringly on his own. Silently, they exchange stares for a moment—one party focused and poised and the other utterly confused—before Neptune leans himself forward and plants a chaste peck on Ren’s lips. The shorter man is caught entirely off-guard by the motion; he topples back onto his palms as Neptune pulls away with a sheepish grin. “Still want that tea?”

Without awaiting an answer, Neptune rises again and steps outside with the kitchen in his sights.

Leaning back against the headboard, Ren tugs the covers up above his waist again and releases another breath he had been holding. Oh, how things have changed…! Since Cinder Fall’s… Well, _fall_ , so to speak, things have been almost unusually _ordinary_. Not that he’s complaining, for this normalcy is far preferable to the horrors endured all those years ago, but it is something to consider nevertheless.

His thoughts, meanwhile, dart back to the very _foundation_ of his troubled mind, and he once again asks himself that same plaguing question—was this how things were _supposed_ to turn out? What would have become of his life, had he not gone to Beacon with Nora all those years ago—had he not been eventually caught up in the fight against Cinder? Would his life be so humdrum—would he have grown so fond of Neptune in the years of turmoil that is caused? Would he instead have settled with Nora, as was once expected of him? Would he be out traveling with Jaune and Pyrrha, or would he have taken up teaching at Beacon with Nora? It truly has hit him, at last—how much his life has changed, and consequently, how much he must have changed as well.

When Neptune steps back inside, he finds Ren sitting crisscross atop the covers, eyeing him directly with an expression of contemplation splayed across his features. The sight appears to have caught Neptune off-guard, as he struggles to shut the door behind him with the back of his heel. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, passing on the piping mug of tea. “Dr. Vasilias is open for consultation. Pour your heart out.”

At the inquisitive glance cast in his direction, Neptune snickers and sits down beside Ren on the bed. “I’m just kidding. Seriously, though, what’s up?”

“Do you think I’ve changed?” Ren’s eyes fall once more upon the face of his companion, dashing subconsciously along the curvature of his jaw, the thick trim of his eyebrows—black, like his lashes, the natural color of his hair—, thediscolored burnmark that licks along his cheek, crosses over his lips, his ear, snaking down his neck until the start of his forearm…

“Changed?” Leaning back against the headboard, Neptune folds his hands and cups them behind his head, eyeing the ceiling that looms in white above their heads. “How so?”

“Since Beacon, I guess.” The teacup in Ren’s hands clinks as he taps it with the tips of his nails; the copper-colored liquid inside ripples and sloshes with each rhythmic rapping of his fingers. Where is he going with this, himself? Does he even know? “I’m not even really sure.”

Blinking once, twice, Neptune sinks further down against the mattress and folds his arms over his chest; he draws his lower lip under his teeth and nibbles at it in thought. “Well, yeah, you have. In some ways, anyway. You’ve grown an inch.” At this, Ren lightly nudges the other with his elbow. “Hehe, and you’re more open with me now than you used to be, too. But, uh, that could just be me, I guess. Hm. I really haven’t thought about it before.” He pauses here and raises a hand to his mouth to conceal another sleepy yawn. “But I guess, if I haven’t noticed, then you haven’t changed _that_ much.”

Absently drawing a sip of tea from the lip of the cup, Ren leans his head back and briefly mulls over Neptune’s nonchalant (or exhaustedly simple) response. He hasn’t changed that much? That may be true in reality, but internally he feels so far-removed from his former self… Or maybe that’s not it at all? Maybe this feeling is something entirely unrelated to internal alterations—perhaps it is more so a question of fate? What is he fated to do, to become? Was his present situation ever supposed to happen to begin with? _Why is he so preoccupied with things like this at two-thirty?_ He daresay it’s enough to drive him mad.

Then again, something about the combination of soothing tea and unique affections _does_ seem to be easing these prodding thoughts, if even only a little. Maybe he just needs to wait it out.

“I mean…” Neptune’s voice beside him catches him by surprise, and his eyebrows lift in question as the blue-haired man speaks again. “Who cares if you’ve changed or not? You’re still fine now, right? That’s cool. That’s all that really matters anyway.”

Perhaps in another, fully-rested state of mind, Ren would long since have considered this as a viable truth, but in this moment of weakness and half-conscious musings, something about Neptune’s wording enraptures him. Maybe there is some truth in what he says; regardless of how he got here or what the future could _possibly_ have in store for them both, the mere truth that they are both _here_ right _now_ is all that matters in the end. Grunting in contemplation, he takes another long, thoughtful sip of his tea before speaking once more. “You’re, err… Thank you.”

“… Huh?” Neptune’s gaze flits downward from the ceiling to his lover’s face, an inquiring glint gleaming in his eyes as he studies Ren’s expression for the briefest of moments. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing... What did I do?”

To this, Ren has nothing to say—in truth, he, himself, cannot pinpoint at what moment he started feeling mended. His thoughts are still billowing around in the cavity of his mind, but at the very least, he is one step closer to peace, and for this he is grateful.

Rather than saying more on the subject, Ren readjusts his grip on the teacup and shifts nearer to Neptune, gently leaning the weight of his right side against the left half of the other’s body. The shudder that ripples through Neptune’s form resonates beside him as their bare skin brushes, smooth wheat against roughened fallow—a trail of goosebumps cascades down his arms at the sensation. Relinquishing a slow, soft breath, Ren lowers his head to Neptune’s shoulder and gingerly rests his forehead on the bare crook, and after a moment’s hesitation, the taller man leans his head down to rest on top—neither party utters so much as a whisper, comforted and lulled by the mere cadence of the other’s breathing, of the other’s lively heartbeat. They are alive, and they are here, and little else in this insignificant moment matters.

Ren’s thoughts, though still a bit rampant, are gradually quelled by the soothing steam from his tea, and it is in this silent bliss that he feels the deepest certainty blossom within his body.


End file.
